


Hard Truths

by WetSammyWinchester



Series: All That Matters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Frottage, Gunplay, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mobster Dean, Raised Apart, Timestamp, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: When Sam is threatened, Dean takes care of what needs to be done.





	Hard Truths

**Author's Note:**

> This is a timestamp for [All That Matters In The End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8485762/chapters/19446394), my 2016 Wincest Big Bang. Always wanted to come back around to these characters and my kink bingo prompt of gun play seemed perfect.
> 
> Thanks to beta and friend anotherwinchesterfangirl for her help with both fics!

When the blindfold is yanked off his eyes, the first thing he sees is the blood at his feet.

The pool of red reflects the bare bulbs of the warehouse lights, and a tang of copper and gunpowder hangs in the air that makes him want to gag. A periphery of violence continues but dims in that moment as he stares at the red, and the dark figure slumped on the floor in the middle of it. That’s my second cousin, he thinks. Mark? Mike? Quiet guy, not too bright.

He feels a moment of panic as the blood continues to creep towards the tips of his leather shoes, and he has the urge to pull them up, like a child at the beach when the tide comes in, but can't lift them because of the ropes wrapped around his ankles.

Someone is yanking the gag out of his mouth, and it doesn't go easy from his dry lips and tongue. Sam looks over his shoulder and is disappointed to find one of Dean’s lieutenants.

“Where is he?” he asks, voice rough from a day and a night with no water. After so long in the dark, his eyes blink slowly against the harsh industrial lights.

The guy nods towards the source of the blood, as he continues to cut at the ropes that bind Sam's wrists behind his back.

The corpse on the ground comes into better focus and Sam can see that the blood is from twin gunshot wounds to his cousin’s head and chest. One of the last blood members of the Campbell family. _Blood of my blood. Good._

Looking up from the body, he sees him at last.

Dean’s face is incandescent in his rage. Anyone else would see coldness in those still features, but Sam can read the emotions in the curl of his brother’s lip and the glimpse of his teeth. The light above Dean's head shines down, giving him a dark blond halo, casting his face into shadows as dark as the black shirt and suit he’s wearing. He raises the Colt, not to fire it, but to break the guy’s cheekbone below him. As Dean thrashes him across the face, Sam sees Ares on the battlefield, the archangel Michael with his spear held high, or Cain with his jawbone raised, face spattered with blowback from the battle. Dark destruction and bright vengeance made manifest.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, Sam knows that this is not his Dean, the brother who laughs at stupid movies or plays cards with him late into the night. This Dean is a killer forged from the awful, piercing grief from their father’s death.

Despite the bloodied face, Sam recognizes the beaten man at his brother’s feet - Christian Campbell. The Campbell cousins are the remaining holdouts in merging the interests of the two families together. When Christian reached out with an offer to talk over lunch, Sam knew Dean would never agree, never trusted the man. But he took a chance, hoping to resolve things peacefully, but it turns out Dean was right.

An unsuccessful coup by a bitter cousin, desperate to prove himself the rightful heir to a long dead grandfather. Sam tried to leave the violence of this world, only acting as Dean’s consigliere when it was necessary. 

He should know better by now, there is no escape.

Dean brings the gun down once more with a crack, sending a broken tooth from Christian’s mouth to skitter across the floor, spinning to a stop at Sam's feet.

“Dean!”

His brother seems confused and the gun falters where it is raised high for another blow, before Dean focuses on Sam's face. Christian’s limp body hasn't even hit the ground before Dean is striding over to Sam, stepping over Mark's corpse on the ground without a glance.

The lieutenant is crouched, still working on the ropes around one of Sam's legs when Dean grabs the knife and shoves him aside. The last bits of rope are chopped away and Dean grabs Sam's face, brushing his hair back and running his thumb over a bruise high on Sam's cheekbone. Dean's hands are rough as they open the ruined suit, doing an angry triage for injuries.

“I'm okay, Dean.” His lips are cracked and his shoulders sore, but he should be able to walk out of here by his own power. “Let's get out of here, please.”

Sam stands but stumbles three steps later. One of the men goes to help, but Dean is there first. He is always first when it comes to Sam. He grabs Sam's elbow and they start to make their way towards the loading dock doors.

“Whore.” Despite the broken tooth, Christian’s voice rings out clear against the metal cavern ceiling of the warehouse, and Sam closes his eyes. “Sold out your family for--”

The sound of the gunshot is loud and smoke curls from the end of Dean's Colt. Gunpowder fills the air, and Sam thinks he may choke on it, but looking at his cousin on the ground, all he can think is good, before he is dragged out by Dean, barely able to keep from tripping on his own feet.

“Take care of this,” Dean says to another of his men as they leave. He doesn't look at Sam but tightens his grip on the meat of his arm.

“Dean--”

One of their black Escalades is parked in the alley and Sam wants to laugh - _what no limo for the ride home?_ \- as he is shoved into the backseat with Dean climbing in behind.

The driver turns around, his arm on the seat. “Where you wanna go, boss? Back to the penthouse?”

“Get out.”

Dean doesn't even look at the driver because his eyes are boring into Sam. The guy scrambles out quickly, slamming the door behind him.

“Never again,” Dean grits out through his teeth. He grips the back of Sam's neck, pulling him across the seat for a rough kiss, resting their foreheads together. “Do you hear me? This never happens again.”

When he heard the shouting and the gunfire earlier, Sam knew there was a good chance that he wasn't walking out of that warehouse. Christian said as much. Sam was bait to draw Dean out, and once Dean was dead, the second bullet in his gun had Sam’s name written on it. The blindfold and the gag were just props, designed to heightened Sam’s fear, to make him wonder which gunshot carried death for Dean.

His dry and cracked lips ache under the pressure of their kisses, and he doesn’t want to be the first to pull away but he does. Despite the dark tint on the Cadillac’s back windows, Dean's men aren’t stupid. They know the brothers are close; they’ve heard the rumors just as Christian did. And Dean's men still don’t consider Sam real family, just a bastard who was given up, more Campbell than Winchester. 

And the Winchesters are dealing with a lot right now - John’s death, turf wars, Henriksen's never-ending investigation - so brother fucking might push some of them right over the edge. Whether that was towards their rivals or the DA, Sam didn't know. No matter how much power they have, how many people work for them, he and Dean know that they can only count on each other in the end.

He pushes back against Dean's shoulder. “Gotta stop. We’ll do this later.”

“No.” Dean’s hands are insistent, clenched in Sam's shirt, and his lips are back, sucking down what air there is between them as if to live. “No one calls you a whore.”

Dean's dark suit jacket falls open, and the pearl handle and chrome plating of the Colt gleams in its shoulder holster nestled against the black of his shirt. Specks of blood mar the shine of the gun, and Sam thinks about the bodies inside. He brings his hand up to press the gun into Dean’s rib cage, still able to smell the gunpowder and see the smoke as the metal sits hard and heavy in the palm of his hand.

“No one will ever call me that again - you’ll take care of them.”

Unseeing and uncaring, Dean pins Sam further back into the soft leather seat, his muscular thigh pressing against Sam's cock. “You're carrying a gun on you again - no argument.”

“Don't need to.” Sam nuzzles along Dean’s jaw, kisses to soften and placate, and drops his hand from the steel of the gun to Dean's cock under the fine wool pants. Sam looks up, his liquid eyes dark and on fire. “Because you’ll kill them all for me, won’t you?”

“Every one of ‘em.” Dean groans as Sam continues to work his dick through the soft wool. “I'll kill ‘em all. I'd kill the world for you.”

He grabs Sam's hair, the soft curls behind his ear, twining his fingers at the roots and pulling back so Sam's neck is stretched taut, giving him nowhere to go in the small space. He presses down further, lining up their cocks, humping hard, while Sam’s hands clutch uselessly at the back of Dean's jacket. The gun holster digs into Sam’s side, unyielding and deadly. He wraps one leg around Dean, adjusting the angle so Dean's weight rests heavy against his balls.

“Dean. Fuck.”

His brother grunts and his hand drops to Sam's fly, yanking it down and pulling him out, and Sam is quick to mirror the frantic motions, pushing aside the dangling belt and plunging his hand inside Dean's pants. Their groans mix with the sound of flesh on flesh, and Dean presses their foreheads together once more.

“Can't lose you, Sam. You go, I go.” He comes hard over Sam's hand and arm, a wave of relief that spills onto his brother's torn and dirty suit pants.

That's enough for Sam, who comes shortly after, gasping and biting his lip so hard that it splits open. Dean presses his lips against the cut. “Blood of my blood.”

Sam shivers at the words. “I'm not going anywhere, Dean.” He reaches into Dean's suit coat and winds his fingers around the gun, tugging on it to get his attention. “If you go, I go. Always.”


End file.
